


Hello, Sky (I'll find you again)

by Unbreakablefantasy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Lighthouses, M/M, Magical Realism, Mythology - Freeform, Reincarnation, Sort Of, Strangers to Lovers, kind of, matsuhana if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28586691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unbreakablefantasy/pseuds/Unbreakablefantasy
Summary: It’s something like this; You are an ancient, arcane god. You are the sky itself. You are in love with the sea. You can’t remember any of this, but that’s okay because it doesn’t really matter anymore who you were or who you loved because right now you are Oikawa Tooru and you are in love with Iwaizumi Hajime. Theoretically, there should be nothing wrong with this, except that Iwaizumi Hajime seems to be mourning someone who no longer exists.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 36
Kudos: 306





	Hello, Sky (I'll find you again)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is based on a series of comics I've drawn. If you're here from that, thank you so much for all of the love and support! 
> 
> If you're new, you don't have to read the comics to understand what's going on, but it might help to clarify some things! You can find those comics (plus the playlist!) [here!](https://twitter.com/i/events/1340324870194950145)
> 
> Happy reading!

The open ocean is, to say the least, terrifying.

It's something like this;

A vast expanse of blue and nothing, and not even Oikawa Tooru is safe from the drop in his stomach and the beating of his own heart. Yet, as it does to many others, it calls to him anyway.

Oikawa lets himself float at twenty feet, feels the currents shift around his ankles, carrying him slightly eastward. The surface of the water shimmers above, distorting the dim rays of light that catch the pale skin on the back of his hand. Below is blue, blue, blue.

If only for a moment, the saltwater washes his mind clean, washes the open wounds in his bleeding memory.

Unfortunately, Oikawa Tooru is but human, and therefore, has an oxygen quota to meet every few seconds. He drinks in the feeling for one last moment, before tugging on the tether attached to his wetsuit. Moments later, a shadow passes overhead, and Oikawa swims up to it, savoring the pleasant burning sensation in his lungs.

“You should come down with me sometime.” He says, hauling himself onto the deck, more as a pleasantry than anything.

“I don’t need to get in the water to catch fish,” Hanamaki replies, going along with Oikawa’s bit, unhooking the tether, then tossing his companion a towel. Oikawa grins as he catches it, running it over his shoulders. They both know Oikawa would rather dive alone anyway.

Hanamaki adjusts the sails, and in a heartbeat, they’re flying back to the coast. They hadn’t sailed too far, his lighthouse and the beach still very much within viewing distance. But Oikawa casts his gaze to the east, towards the horizon.

For a moment, he can imagine that the sky and the sea are the only things in the world. 

  
  


It’s something like this;

Oikawa Tooru finds a stranger mucking about the tidepools, scaring away the shorebirds as he pokes at the crabs. 

Oikawa’s lighthouse is on a public beach, so seeing people walk alongside the shore isn’t new, but the locals know not to cause a ruckus near the tidepools out of respect for Oikawa’s shorebirds.

(Tourist season is Oikawa’s worst nightmare.)

“They’re not _my_ birds,” He retorts to Hinata lightly once, as several of the said birds perch on his knees. A sandpiper chirps pointedly at the shorter boy and pecks at his bare foot. Hinata squawks at it in indignation, jerking away to reveal a small donax. The sandpiper plucks it up, then scurries back towards the dunes. Another lands in front of Oikawa and drops another empty shell at his feet. It’s a pretty thing, apricot-colored and curved into a gentle spiral. When he picks it up, the sunlight catches on the iridescent sheen. 

“They are _definitely_ your birds.” Hinata scowls and Oikawa laughs. The sandpiper seems pleased.

Today, the shorebirds are far from pleased, swarming at the stranger’s feet with their wings spread to the ground. The stranger steps back, closer to the nesting area he can’t see, and releases a cacophony of angry chirps from the feathered mob. As he watches the stranger get his kneecaps absolutely destroyed, Oikawa decides that it’s time to intervene on the bird’s behalf.

The birds seem to settle as Oikawa approaches, but they still bristle, and the stranger is a bit too close to the sandpipers’ nest for comfort. His heart skips a beat as the man trips over the edge of the tidepool and fumbles backward. Reflexively, Oikawa lurches forwards, grabbing his arm and wrenching him out of disaster trajectory. They stumble across the sand, far enough away that the birds seem satisfied and return to their business, only casting the occasional wary glance their way.

Oikawa allows himself a moment of relief for the baby sandpipers, before shifting his gaze to the now-disgruntled stranger. 

“What the _hell_ were you doing?”

The stranger turns to face him, and Oikawa feels like he’s been hit by every rock in a meteor shower.

It’s a bottomless pit opening up in his lungs. It’s a thousand lifetimes of heartache. It’s the joys and sorrows of binary black holes in a billions-year waltz, spinning in tandem before they collapse into one, and then into nothing as their protons scatter across the universe. It’s a sandpiper, built for the sky but falling in love with the sea instead. It nearly brings him to his knees.

It’s over as soon as it happens, and Oikawa is left remembering how to breathe. 

The stranger is frowning at him now, but as Oikawa reorients himself, his expression morphs into a full-blown scowl.

“I was just studying the tidepools. You didn’t have to _tackle_ me.”

Oikawa remembers himself, shoving the feeling away. “You were about to step into a nest! Why did you think the birds were swarming you?”

The stranger seems at a loss for words, glancing behind to see that there were, in fact, several baby sandpipers huddled in the dunes only a few meters away. 

“Oh, I didn’t—” They flinch as a couple of sandpipers fly towards them, but they land gently on Tooru’s outstretched fingers.

“You poor things.” He coos as they chatter at him. “I’m sorry that this beach is so _full of tourists_.” he glowers pointedly.

“I’m not a tourist.” The stranger frowns at the birds on his fingertips. “I’m a marine research student. I’ve been given a stipend to _study these tidepools_. I didn’t realize the birds lived here as well.”

“Well stay away from the nesting areas. They already have to deal with the tourists, they don’t need researchers disturbing their young as well,” Oikawa retorts, but there’s less venom now, and as he lifts his hand the birds happily fly back towards the shore.

“They’re very calm around you.” The stranger notes, watching the pair disappear into the surf. “Do you feed them? Or…”

“No, at least not significantly.” Oikawa turns to face him again. Brilliant, sea-green eyes watch him from behind gold-rimmed glasses, and he finds it almost difficult to meet the stranger’s gaze. “The birds take care of themselves. We’re just friends, I suppose. And I chase the tourists away from their nests.”

“...Seems like an interesting spot.”

“Oh, there are miles of beach around here, plenty of other interesting things to find." He kneels down and reaches into a tidepool, nudging a crayfish resting in the crystalline waters. It crawls onto his palm and begins investigating his fingers. There’s a pregnant pause before the stranger speaks again.

“Show me.”

“Excuse me?” Oikawa sputters. The crayfish startles, scuttling into the rocks.

“Show me? I don’t know anything about this area, and you seem to know about the local wildlife.” 

“Why should I? I don’t even know who you are, and you almost stepped on baby birds.” Oikawa replies loftily. 

“Please.” He hugs his notebook to his chest. “I...I can pay you? Actually, I can’t, but you can make sure I don’t step on any birds.”

Oikawa finds he has nothing to gain from this interaction. He doesn’t know this stranger, probably doesn’t have the time for him even if he did. And besides, Oikawa is still miffed over the incident with the nest.

Perhaps it’s the traces of his initial, inexplicable shock still tracing his heart. Perhaps it’s the way the ocean reflects in the other boy’s eyes. Perhaps, it’s simply a choice he wants to make for himself.

Finding himself unable to deny this stranger’s request, Oikawa slowly nods. 

“I’m Oikawa Tooru. I run the night shifts at the lighthouse, so show up Tuesday at seven in the morning.”

The stranger nods.

“I’m Haj—Iwaizumi. I’m Iwaizumi.”

It’s something like this;

For the next few weeks, Oikawa reluctantly guides Iwaizumi around the coastline.

(It really isn’t reluctant at all, though he tells himself otherwise)

On Tuesdays and Fridays, Oikawa finishes his shift at five-thirty in the morning, handing off the logbooks to Hinata or Yahaba, reminding them to polish the lens and windows in the morning because _you never remember to do it later, don’t make that face, I’m right and you know it_. He heats up an egg and some rice for breakfast, changes clothes, and waits for Iwaizumi to arrive at seven sharp on his Vespa. From there, they ride across the coastline, stopping whenever Oikawa points out a particular sandy stretch and wandering about until Iwaizumi is satisfied with his notes or Oikawa is falling asleep standing up (more often the latter). 

On other days, when Oikawa is stuck at the lighthouse for a day shift and the weather is bad, Iwaizumi will show up in a yellow raincoat and ask to use his telescope and borrow his books on seabirds. Oikawa will let him in (though not without scolding him for making puddles on the floor) before vanishing upstairs, and Iwaizumi will follow, several books in tow, and settle across from Oikawa in the gallery. 

Oikawa likes to sing during his shifts (there isn’t much else to do). He doesn’t have an angelic voice, by any means, but it’s guttural and sweet and it’s something to fill the silence. Occasionally, Iwaizumi fixes him with a look that makes him feel so self-conscious he’ll abruptly stop, but Iwaizumi will turn away, grumbling out a quiet _you can keep going_. 

It’s in this glass gallery that Oikawa feels these transient moments of poignance, not as intense and consuming as their first meeting, but enough to send the sky spinning and enough to leave Oikawa feeling like he’s on a rollercoaster that’s ricocheting off course. 

(He wants to be curious, really, he does. He wants to know why he loves the sea, why the sandpipers flock to him, why he is the way he is. But the sky is a cycle and even stars fade eventually.)

“Do you want to come diving with me, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa finds himself saying during a particularly slow afternoon shift. Iwaizumi frowns at the nickname (though he’s known arguing is a losing battle since it first left Oikawa’s lips.)

“Why?”

“What do you mean, _why?”_ Oikawa scoffs at him. “I’m inviting you to go for a swim, not to go commit crimes.”

“I mean, it’s just that it has nothing to do with my research.” 

“Well, you can just say _no_ , Iwa-chan.” He huffs, turning away. “Just thought you might be interested, is all.”

“Fuck…” Iwaizumi shuts his book and rubs his temples. “That’s not what I meant, ‘Kawa.” He presses his palms together and looks directly at Oikawa, who now has his eyes trained on the horizon. “Look, it sounds lovely. I would love to come.”

“You...do?” Oikawa watches him from the corner of his eye, almost incredulous.

“Yeah. I do.” Iwaizumi tries a smile, and though he doesn’t get one in return, he doesn’t miss how the corner of his lip quirks upwards.

With some pushing and pulling, Oikawa convinces Hanamaki to take all three of them out on his dingy little fishing boat, and so at seven o’clock on Friday morning instead of riding along the cliff sides, Iwaizumi finds himself watching the lighthouse creep towards the horizon as Hanamaki’s deckhand, Matsukawa, flashes them a peace sign from the docks.

It’s something like this;

Iwaizumi Hajime is the sea, except Iwaizumi is just a name and this isn’t a metaphor.

Oikawa Tooru is not privy to this insight, but as he watches Iwaizumi leap off the port side, he might believe it anyway.

(Little does he know, Iwaizumi Hajime is, quite literally the sea. Or he was, anyway. Little does he know there’s a face behind his inexplicable adoration of the water)

He perches on the edge of the transom to watch Iwaizumi resurface in a cloud of bubbles; eyes bright amidst the sparkling blue. Then there’s that horrible tug in his gut, an emptiness for something missing that he can’t quite place. An eternity’s worth of something just out of reach, and it _hurts._ He almost sobs, wants to cry out, reach out, but before he can the voice at the back of his mind tells him to remember himself. 

He seals the feeling away, flashing his companion a cattish grin.

“Enjoying yourself, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi’s smile turns sour at the nickname, paddling back towards the edge of the boat. Oikawa cocks his head, quizzical, and only has a moment to register the fact that Iwaizumi’s got a hand around his wrist and that he’s falling towards the water.

The resounding shriek can be heard for miles, and every seagull within the vicinity leaps out of the water. Oikawa feels the saltwater run up his nose and down his throat as he returns to the surface sputtering and coughing. Iwaizumi laughs, shoulders shaking and nearly sinking straight into the ocean, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. He’s raw and effervescent in a way Oikawa’s never seen, and he would’ve been breathless at the sight if he weren’t already half-drowning. 

“ _Iwa-chan_ .” He bemoans, spitting out seawater. He can hear Hanamaki guffawing on the deck. “I am wearing _jeans_.”

“That—” Iwaizumi points at him with his snorkel, “—sounds like a you problem.”

“Ugh, so rude.” Oikawa huffs, clambering back onto the deck and shedding his sopping wet clothes. Now free save for his wetsuit, he turns to the water to see Iwaizumi staring, pink-cheeked and lost. 

(Because Oikawa’s skin is navy blue again, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to do with that image.)

He snaps out of it though, when he sees the smug grin forming on Oikawa’s lips. Before he can even say a word, Iwaizumi’s hand closes around his wrist and hauls him overboard once more.

  
  
  
  


It’s something like this;

You are an ancient, arcane god. You are the sky itself. You are in love with the sea. But the sky is a cycle and you have been cast out of your own memory. You are the sky itself but you can’t even remember it. You’re in love with the ocean and you don’t know why. 

“You know, there’s some speculation that water has memory,” Iwaizumi says to him one day, back in the glass gallery. Oikawa stops humming.

“Oh?” Iwaizumi nods in affirmation.

“Not really my field of study, but it’s interesting.” Iwaizumi fixes him with an inscrutable look. “What if the water remembers everything?”

As someone seemingly devoid of distant memories, Oikawa has nothing much to say on that front. Because it’s something like this; You are an ancient, arcane god. You are the sky itself. You are in love with the sea. You can’t remember any of this, but that’s okay because it doesn’t really matter anymore who you were or who you loved because right now you are Oikawa Tooru and you are in love with Iwaizumi Hajime. Theoretically, there should be nothing wrong with this, except that Iwaizumi Hajime seems to be mourning someone who no longer exists. 

Because it’s something like this; You are Iwaizumi Hajime, but really you are the sea and Iwaizumi is just a name. You break down crying in front of Oikawa Tooru, except Oikawa is also just a name, even if it’s the only one you can call them, _him_ , and you can’t tell him why you’re mourning because he doesn’t remember himself and you’re starting to wonder if any of it was real, or if you’ve always been trapped in this human body and these memories are something you dreamt. Oikawa holds you in his arms and promises _I’m here, I’m right here_ , but you don’t know if that’s true, because water is spilling from your eyes and the water remembers everything.

Longing crashes over them like a waterfall, constant and deafening, neither knowing who they really belong to or what they are longing for. Oikawa Tooru holds onto him anyway.

Because love and memory have never been mutually exclusive, and he knows he has loved Iwaizumi Hajime before he even knew who he was. 

  
  
  
  


It’s something like this;

Oikawa Tooru rarely dreams. 

Oikawa Tooru rarely dreams, but in the wake of Iwaizumi Hajime, he finds that he’s falling from the sky. 

He’s falling from the sky, and it’s a myriad of colors. Galaxies trail behind him like smoke, and as he looks at his arm, starry and blue as the sky, he realizes that galaxies _are_ smoke and _he is on fire_. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows why, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees a streak of blue and seafoam.

_No power, no memory, no eternity. You will die regretting it._ The voice in his head tells him, rumbling and deep.

Oikawa Tooru considers this for a moment, watching the ocean fall to earth. 

_No, I don’t think I will_.

As the final traces of blue leave his skin, dissipating into the orange sky, the earth comes to greet him as well.

_I’ll find you again_. He smiles, before crashing into the endless blue.

  
  
  
  
  


It’s something like this;

Iwaizumi Hajime wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, rose-colored light filtering through the window. The quilt draped over his shoulders is pale, sky blue, covered in birds and stars. Though if he needs secondary confirmation, Oikawa Tooru sits, head cradled by his own limbs as he sleeps in a wicker armchair three meters away. 

Tooru has always looked young (far younger than he really is), but something Iwaizumi can only appreciate in their humanity is how peaceful Oikawa looks in his sleep. He doesn’t see war, or stars falling like rain, or unimaginable heartbreak. He only sees a boy, with his blouse wrinkled and his cheekbones drenched in the honey-colored sun. 

He sits up, fumbling for his glasses (the gods couldn’t have been bothered to give his body working eyes?), and then for the notebook and bag that Oikawa must’ve set on the bedside table after he’d cried himself to sleep. Embarrassment burns in his cheeks at the hazy memory, but for the most part, he feels...serene. 

Grabbing a few pencils from his bag, he flips through pages of field notes, until the field notes stop being field notes and start becoming drawings of a god. Hair like silver and galaxies spread across their cheeks, bringing down stars like rain. He glances between the latest drawing and the boy sleeping across from him. Oikawa Tooru’s skin doesn’t turn ultraviolet at night and he can’t create storms with a wave of his hand, but when he opens his eyes and smiles gently at Iwaizumi the world turns bronze and gold and coral pink. 

“Stay like that for five minutes.” Iwaizumi orders, turning to the blank page across the last drawing.

“Well good morning to you too, Iwa-chan.” he rasps, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as the sunlight sets him on fire.

“Please?”

Oikawa fixes him with a look, and Iwaizumi thinks it might be fondness. Always unable to deny him anything, he simply nods and reclines back into his original position, and Iwaizumi starts sketching, blending the colors as best he can out of reds and yellows and navy blues. 

Save for the eyes (Because golden brown was made for Oikawa Tooru), the results look nothing alike, because Oikawa Tooru is not ultraviolet and waging war in the stars, because Oikawa Tooru does not look at him with fear and anger in his eyes, No. Despite the millennia of heartache that had washed over them in the glass gallery, the Oikawa Tooru sitting across from him smiles radiantly, adoringly, ablaze in the sun and in his own humanity. 

For the first time, Iwaizumi thinks he might trade an eternity together to see him smile like that every morning.

For the first time, he wonders if it’s okay to forget. 

“Are you finished? Can I see it?” Oikawa asks, stretching until his spine cracks. Iwaizumi nods slowly, and Oikawa settles next to him.

“Oh.” He murmurs, and Iwaizumi can’t tell which drawing he’s looking at. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi’s human heart thrashes in his chest. “He is.”

And then it’s a waterfall again, constant and deafening still, but this time, he reaches out his hand to catch the bubbles and fresh droplets between his fingers. 

“Do you…” Oikawa’s voice catches in his throat as he turns to face him, and when Iwaizumi meets his eyes they’re startlingly sad. It’s the same look he saw when he’d found him again for the first time, the same gaze that seems to rip through him on the days he catches Iwaizumi staring in the glass gallery. 

It would always vanish as quickly as it appeared, but now it’s open and raw and intentional. Iwaizumi reaches out to gently touch his hand. _I’m here. I’m right here_.

“Do you ever wonder,” He starts again, curling his fingers into Iwaizumi’s palm “if you’re supposed to let go?” There’s no explanation, and even as an ancient god Iwaizumi has never been able to read minds. 

The open ocean is, to say the least, terrifying, even when you know it as well as you know yourself. 

“I think…” He trails off, reaching for the words he wants to say, but instead settles for the ones inside him that have been begging to be released. “I think it’s okay, to let yourself become something new.”

Oikawa seems to let out a breath he’d been holding, and Iwaizumi finds he can breathe easier, too. 

“Thank you, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa smiles, and Iwaizumi wonders if this is what it’s like to want to kiss someone. 

It would be nice to stay here forever, he thinks, with Oikawa looking at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky (He hadn’t, Tooru did), but he pulls himself away, stands up, and collects his things.

“Thanks for, um, everything.” Iwaizumi pauses at the door, Oikawa still sitting on the bed and watching him with the corners of his lips turned upwards. “I’ll...see you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.” He murmurs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

  
  
  
  


There’s a shrine to two old, forgotten gods at the top of a cliff overlooking the sea. Oikawa never visits, because the birds avoid it like a plague and he’s never been one to argue with the birds. 

Today, though, Oikawa sits with his back to the stone and stares out at the horizon, contemplating the answer that Iwaizumi had given him this morning.

It’s something like this; Oikawa Tooru is in love with Iwaizumi Hajime, and Iwaizumi Hajime is in love with someone who doesn’t exist. But what if they do? What if there’s a version of himself that he doesn’t know about? A version of himself that was more? A version of himself that Iwaizumi Hajime loves?

A light chirp interrupts his thoughts, and he looks down to see a sandpiper at his feet.

“Hey, you’re a long away from the shore, aren’t you?” 

The bird chirps again, flitting up to his knee and dropping something shiny into his lap. It fixes him with a gaze he doesn’t really understand (it is a _bird_ , after all), then ruffles its feathers, settling down atop his knee. Oikawa searches for the item, finding a shard of an abalone shell. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He asks it, half expecting a real answer. The bird regards him with a pleased indifference, closing its eyes as it basks in the sun. He turns the shell over in his hand, watching the iridescent fractures shimmer in the warm light. It’s not an answer, but it’s pretty, and it reminds him of how Iwaizumi’s eyes lit up when he’d grabbed his arm and pulled him into the sea.

“I want to see him.” He says out loud, because despite not knowing so many things, this, he knows, is true.

  
  


It’s something like this; 

You find a beautiful boy running up to a lighthouse, at the edge of where the sky meets the sea. He is exactly who you’ve been looking for, and he smiles as he sees you, looking like he wants to say something but he’s not sure how. 

“You came back? Did you leave something?”

“No, I uh....” He turns pink in the face. “I just...wanted to see you.”

In another lifetime, another universe, there are a million snarky, sweet responses that Oikawa Tooru would have to this revelation. 

“Were we in love? Before?” Is what comes tumbling out of his mouth.

“Yes.” _Are you, still?_

“How?”

Iwaizumi just stares, at a loss for words.

“I’m not the sky, and I can’t make it rain stars. I’m not sure if I ever could, and I know I probably never will.

“Tooru…”

“But I am still hopelessly, endlessly in love, with every version of you. And it’s not the same, because what can a human heart offer to someone who remembers what it’s like to be a god?” Oikawa walks down the stairs to stand in front of him. 

“We could’ve had eternities.” Iwaizumi implores. “Perhaps not together, but the sky is endless. What could I possibly give you to replace that?” 

“I don’t want eternities,” Oikawa says, “I don’t need the sky or anything to replace it. I want to be alive. I want to be with you.”

“Will that be enough?” 

“I don’t care who you think I used to be, or who you think _you_ used to be.” Oikawa reaches for his shoulders, hands trembling. “I am Oikawa Tooru, and you are Iwaizumi Hajime. And I am _enough_. _You are enough_. And _I love you_ and I don’t even _care_ that I don’t understand why.” He leans forwards, shaking like a leaf, touching their foreheads gently. “Is that enough for you?”

It’s something like this; Oikawa Tooru is the sky, perhaps not literally, anymore, but Iwaizumi thinks now that it’s okay if one day, all the stars vanish from the sky. It’s okay, to give in to a universe that will break itself apart and expand forever.

“It is.” He whispers into the air, before leaning the last few inches into Oikawa Tooru and pressing their lips together. 

There is something wonderfully human about kissing, Iwaizumi will think to himself, though not until much later when he lies beneath a quilt of birds and stars with a beautiful boy asleep in his arms. For now, he tastes the sea salt on their lips, delights in the sensation of thin fingers curling in his hair as his heart pounds in his chest. He’s never imagined wanting anything like this, but he thinks he wants _everything_ with Oikawa Tooru.

“Have we ever done that before?” Oikawa mumbles against his lips, slinging his arms over Iwaizumi’s shoulders. They sway gently on the spot, kiss-drunk, and riding sunbeams, and Oikawa thinks he doesn’t feel so empty anymore. 

“No.” Iwaizumi murmurs, smiling. “And now, I can’t imagine why.”

“Then don’t.” Oikawa laughs. “And kiss me again.” 

And so he does, at the steps of a lighthouse where the sky and the sea aren’t the only things in the world and there’s this beautiful boy soaked in sunlight and saltwater.

He will happily give up eternity, Iwaizumi thinks, for a chance at life with Oikawa Tooru.


End file.
